


Worry

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 01:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10629213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Erestor’s not pleased with Glorfindel’s actions at the ford.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Set during The Fellowship of the Ring (book 2 chapter 1) just after Glorfindel’s brought Aragorn and the hobbits to Rivendell.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

As soon as Lindir announces, “Glorfindel has returned,” Erestor is all but flying from his desk. His letters lie forgotten—it was too difficult to concentrate anyway. Lindir is right behind him, but Erestor rushes faster, wanting to take the stairs two at a time—it seems no time for decorum. Somehow, he reaches the bridge with his dignity intact, and he weaves right past Lord Elrond and the gaggle of attendants. There’s an oddly high number of halflings that he ignores, and he manages no more than a curt nod of greeting to Estel. It’s Glorfindel he hurries to, and it’s all he can do to stop himself from flinging his arms right around Glorfindel’s thick neck.

He halts toe-to-toe instead, backing Glorfindel right up into a startled Asfaloth. Glorfindel is harder to surprise and merely smiles. His golden hair sways lightly in the breeze, his bright eyes wide, his creamy skin utterly unblemished; his clothes are neither torn nor damp, and he doesn’t have a single twig or leaf stuck in his wavy locks. All in all, he looks little different than when he left. Erestor’s breath catches from the beauty and relief of that alone, but it doesn’t take the edge out of his voice when he orders sternly, “My office. Now.”

Glorfindel’s grin twitches, almost growing, but he clamps down on it in time, casting a knowingly look to Estel. Erestor pays the crowd no more mind; he’ll help them when he can, and Elrond has plenty of other resources in the meantime. Their guests will be well taken care of. It’s Glorfindel alone that Erestor draws out, and when he abruptly turns to march back inside, he takes careful note of Glorfindel’s footsteps directly behind him.

They’re silent on their way through Imladris, and they aren’t stopped—Glorfindel comes and goes all the time. He doesn’t, however, leave the lands unguarded when such shadows lurk on their borders, though things haven’t been so grave for centuries, and most of their peers don’t know the true danger on their doorstep. Just thinking about it makes Erestor’s skin crawl, and he finds himself casting the occasional glance backward to take Glorfindel in again: he’s as pristinely perfect as ever.

As soon as they step into the office, Erestor shuts the door and flings himself at Glorfindel, wrapping tightly around his tall frame in a fierce embrace. Erestor’s hands claw into Glorfindel’s long hair, his chest crushed more than his lungs would like, his chin hooking over Glorfindel’s shoulder, his cheek pressing into Glorfindel’s side. He breathes in the thick musk of earth and vanilla soap, a little bit of sweat and lavender shampoo. Glorfindel’s strong hands slide up his back, holding him in, and Glorfindel asks somewhere between a contented sigh and a chuckle: “What have I done to deserve such blatant affection?”

“Do not be a fool,” Erestor hisses in Glorfindel’s ear. It’s an effort to resist caressing it, to resist grinding his body into Glorfindel’s, but this isn’t the time for that, no mater how enticing Glorfindel always feels in his arms. “You fought nine of those monsters at once...”

“I hardly fought at all,” Glorfindel snorts. Erestor can’t trust it; he knows Glorfindel’s too humble. He knows how vital this mission was, and how far Glorfindel would go to protect Estel.

He begrudgingly detangles from Glorfindel’s arms, though he doesn’t pull back far, just enough to catch Glorfindel’s eyes and glare. 

A fond smile playing across his bow lips, Glorfindel softens. He murmurs, “I am sorry. ...But I am also well, and you need not fret.” He punctuates this with a chaste kiss to Erestor’s forehead. Erestor’s body temperature seems to spike, but he stomps that down and restrains the blush that wants to spill across his cheek. Reaching up to tuck a few stray strands of stress-mussed hair behind Erestor’s ear, Glorfindel adds, “I did not know you cared so much.”

Erestor glowers. He icily explains, “I have no intention of losing you again.”

Instantly, Glorfindel’s flippancy drops. His hand falls, his mouth frowning. He seems to struggle for something to say before settling on, “How can I make it up to you?”

Erestor has to cover his face with his hands. He needs to calm himself. He tries to just focus on breathing—it’s _over_ ; Glorfindel is alive, unspoiled, and it wasn’t his fault anyway—Erestor knows Elrond wouldn’t have sent their best warrior away if it weren’t absolutely necessary. When his pulse is somewhat normal again, he drops his hands and sighs, “Whatever treacherous errand Lord Elrond has planned in regards to these dark events, it will occur without you.” Though Glorfindel, technically, holds a title higher than him, he keeps a commanding air, and thankfully, Glorfindel nods in acceptance. 

With another long intake of breath, Erestor straightens out. He smoothes his robes back into place and quickly finger-combs back his hair, trying to make it appear as though he never lost control at all. Then he decides, “Let us return to the fray; Lord Elrond may have need of our assistance in placing his guests. I sincerely hope you plan to render that service, and any other asked of you, _here_ in Imladris, where I may keep my eye on you.”

A smile tugs at Glorfindel’s lips. He says, “Agreed... for now.” Then he leans forward to place the next kiss on Erestor’s lips, and Erestor heads off immediately after, before his day can deteriorate any more than it already has.


End file.
